Happy Thanksgiving
by MsSchneeheide
Summary: A happy Thanksgiving in a Litchfield out of time, in a quiet, season threeish-style era, with a lot of our ladies. Featuring: The Chicken.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

**What am I thankful for this year?**

**All is good with my friends again, the prison is peaceful under Mr Caputo's rule, and I've heard some spoilers on the menu for Thursday... Yes, ****yes, ****it's been a good year.** \- Suzanne Warren

**I'm not being transferred any more, and I'll see my baby Pepa again. Yadriel promised. So, this. **\- Maria Ruiz

**It's funny 'cause I don't know who to say thank you to anymore, but anyway I gotta say it for real. Thank you for coming back to life, a new better life and a better me. And also, friends are a pretty awesome thing, even big ol' lezzies.** \- Tiffany "Pennsatucky" Doggett

XXXXXXXXXX

_Four days to Thanksgiving_

"котлета по-киевски, _kotleta po-kiyevski_," Red murmured with a gleam in icy blue eyes, evidently seeing something that was not there.

Gloria looked at her sideways and pursed her lips. "Am I supposed to ask you what the hell that means?" She continued chopping the carrots forcefully.

Red got back on Earth. "Chicken Kiev," and smacked her lips in a challenging manner.

On her way to the sink with a dirty pot, Gina threw a glance to her left and elbowed Norma, who was stirring a soup on the fire and listening attentively to the two bosses.

"Oye Red, we have a deal remember," Gloria said.

"Of course, of course Mendoza!" she replied, raising her hands.

"You got the chicken, I got the corn and choose the dessert."

"M-mh," she assented and went on with her task.

Gloria put her hands on her hips. From their corner at a safe distance, Flaca and Maritza looked at each other with worry. "And you DON'T gloat."

Red lifted her eyes surprised. "Gloat? Oh no, no. I was just... envisioning, the beauty, the glorious shiny skin, the succulent meat, the rich stuffing-"

Blanca shook her head and muttered to Maria, who was rinsing some vegetables next to her, "Aún no entiendo como carajo lo ha hecho. Nosotras somos la mayoría en esta cocina, y la Roja se ha ganado el pollo." It was indeed a mystery how Red could have won the chicken, even when the kitchen was mostly occupied by Latinas now.

"Ssh, cállate!" she got shushed as Red was just walking by.

"Yeah, yeah," Gloria conceded. "We'll see. And _you_'ll see what a Puerto Rican _arroz con maíz_ taste like."

"I can't wait," she replied.

Aleida and Daya got back from their tête-à-tête with Bennett a few meters away; he seemed properly chastised, and they returned to work.

They all continued with their dinner preparations for some time, until a voice interrupted the slightly tense silence. "Immigration! Hands where I can see 'em."

Some of the Latinas scoffed. "Very funny," Blanca said.

"Yees, thank you, thank you," Nicky nodded, and stole a piece of cheese from a counter. She observed the proceedings for a moment. "Mh, ladies, if this is not a wholesome relaxed work atmosphere. Almost makes me wish I was one of the two Popes meeting the other in St Peter's square in front of half the world's cameras."

"Nicky," Red admonished, and gestured to herself.

The two redheads got into a hushed conversation, the older one getting a start on the stew they had planned for the following day, the younger overseeing and taking a taste once in a while.

The whole kitchen crew after a bit settled back into their own rhythms and mostly peaceful if not entirely integrated coexistence, Gina and Norma gravitating around Red, the Latinas in small groups of varying composition.

Normal bickerings aside, especially amongst the two jefas, it worked well enough and they were happy to keep it that way.

* * *

**The green garden has given new purpose to my stay here, made it better. And it even makes our meals better. Thank you for this.** \- Irma Lerman

**Yes, I agree.** \- Frieda Berlin

* * *

_One week before: Sunday_

Leanne hadn't believed Angie at first, but when she saw _it _herself she just had to.

They were getting out of the abandoned shed the Chinese oldie had left a few minutes before. What a let down, they were so sure she had something more interesting in there than a bunch of orange skins; sniffing them didn't really work, they knew - they had tried.

So it was that Leanne had to trust her own eyes, not only her friend's dubious words now.

"You see!" Angie jumped up and down excitedly with a big smile, index pointing.

She did see indeed.

The chicken was scampering through the grass a few yards away. It was intent on pecking here and there, taking a couple steps in one direction, one in another.

Why did no one do anything? Could the orange skins in her nostrils have had its effect?

She looked around. No one was paying attention, they were all chatting with their friends or playing domino or walking or whatever it was that the other inmates liked doing in their free time out in the open air.

"Let's go," Angie said.

Leanne got out of her haze and assented. "Yeah!"

They started running towards it, but it moved another way. They followed the animal around the corner… nothing. Trying left and right, behind the electrical lab and by the dumpsters… no. It was not there anymore.

Angie and Leanne looked at each other disconsolate. What a lousy day.

XXX

Pennsatucky had overheard them talking about it in the laundry, and though she didn't much believe it she reported the news to Boo; fresh gossip was scarce anyway.

"I don't know kid, your former fellows' acute senses are not exactly reliable."

"I know, but they haven't been high since last Tuesday when they were laughing like hyenas with cinnamon leaking from their noses. Then they've been planning on finding some more but couldn't, I heard them yesterday," she insisted.

"Mh. Well, _suppose_ it's true," Boo started dubious, "and I'm saying it as an hypothesis. But do you know what Red has planned to do with it? She's had _years_ to think this through..."

Pennsatucky nodded, licking her lips.

"Kid, if it's true, we gotta get it," Boo concluded seriously, and got up from the cafeteria bench with new purpose on her face.

XXX

Unbeknownst to them, Angie and Leanne had not been alone that day beside the shed.

Suzanne Warren and Lorna Morello had been in full investigative mode; although the mysterious shower pooper had stopped leaving her signature 'gifts' for some time now, who was to say she wouldn't start again. Their suspicions had focused on Angie Rice lately, but they still wanted confirmation; so, in the hope of hearing something compromising and definite, they had taken to following her.

Eavesdropping had been impossible when she and her friend were inside that shed, but it was just a few minutes anyway. Once they got out Lorna and Suzanne left their stakeout position behind the small building, intent on not losing any more words the two might exchange.

And that was when it happened. Angie and Leanne were looking and pointing at something, and so they saw it too. The chicken. Suzanne frowned perplexed, Lorna jumped up and covered her mouth not to yelp.

"What is a chicken doing here?" Suzanne had asked.

"Suzanne! You've never heard of The Chicken? It doesn't matter, it's okay," Lorna reassured her. "But we've gotta tell the others! We can be heroes!"

So the rumor had started.

Not many fully believed it at first, seeing as the only direct eyewitnesses appeared to be a nice array composed of metheads and various loonies, but fewer were ready to let an opportunity like that pass them by, tenuous as it was.

The turning point came very soon.

XXX

Erica "Yoga" Jones was quietly enjoying her free hour on the grass in the lotus position; she opened an eye to check her friend Janae's stance, when some movement caught her attention. She let out a gasp. Could she have attained Nirvana already?

"What, ain't I doing it right now?" Janae asked.

"Watson..." she slowly said, her skinny hand going up to indicate. "Do you see what I see?"

The other woman turned – then looked at Jones, eyes widened, gaping – turned again – and there it was, still – and it was REAL!

She darted up and dragged the old hippie from her sitting pose. "Let's get it!" she hissed, and took a mad run towards the chicken.

...

Fruitlessly. The elusive vision had disappeared as if into thin air. Darn.

XXX

With the addition of two witnesses who were considered reliable, notwithstanding the haters that doubted Jones' capacity to distinguish reality and fantasy from her dope-filled days, the Chicken rumor had taken over the whole prison.

Most inmates were caught up in a chicken-frenzy, braving the cold November weather at every chance, roaming the yard, inspecting every inch of outside space (and occasionally inside as well, as a minority was convinced the creature must be hiding in a secluded closet or secret room somewhere).

"Find It, girls," Red had given her blessing to her family. "Find It and bring It to me. Thanksgiving is near, and I can already taste the delicious treat I'm going to make for you out of that superb, unique animal."

She herself chose not to be directly involved in the chase, rather to encourage the others' efforts, as her back did not let her run around that much those days, she said; she and Gloria talked it over, though, and asked for a permit to have a special Thanksgiving dinner the following week.

And so it went on for the entire Tuesday and Wednesday.

* * *

It was on Thursday, one week to Thanksgiving.

Red had gone out to check that every box had been taken down from the van.

And there, unexpectedly, out of the blue... she had seen It. No, Her.

Just near the rear tire of the vehicle, pecking on a cabbage leaf that one of those dumb Latinas had evidently dropped from their crate, there She was: The Chicken.

Red froze and stared at Her; She lifted small clever eyes and stared back.

For a split second time stopped, and the two arch-enemies stood like that, just a couple of feet apart, eyes boring into the other's. Then The Chicken took off and run around the corner of the building.

After a moment Red run after Her, past the corner... but no, She was gone.

Red stopped, looked around. There was no one else in sight.

It had been just the matter of a few instants, but then and there, Red knew, that was her chance: she could have had Her. But – it hadn't happened. They had met, seen each other, _recognized_ each other – and she couldn't really. This was no ordinary stupid industrial chicken: this was The Chicken, the one and only, a superior being, highly intelligent, cunning, resourceful, a survivor who had overcome so many obstacles and fooled countless enemies – and she couldn't bear to catch it. They were equal.

Once again, Red made sure she was alone. Then a small smile, unbidden, started playing on her lips. She was still free. The notion actually made her happy; but no one needed to know, of course.

This would stay a secret between her and The Chicken.

XXX

A couple of days after this, when no one had managed to catch the animal yet and the authorisation to have a nice Thanksgiving banquet had come, but she and Gloria still had no idea what they could have as a main dish, she started to question her own judgement and sanity and curse her tender heart.

Fuck The Chicken, she should have caught Her then.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**Thankful, you kidding? I'm stuck in here! We all are... But, yeah. I'm really thankful I'm not a Native American today, this day is a ****sham**** for them. Thankful my *ss. **\- Janae Watson

XXXXXXXXXX

Samuel Healey wasn't very good at his job, many inmates felt.

Still, some would disagree; to some, he had been of actual help. Apart from the mild racism and misogyny, weird lesbians obsession, occasional depressive tendencies and questionable sense of humor, he cared and was a decent sort.

That was why he wasn't happy seeing his friend and on-and-off marriage counselor Galina Reznikov so down these days.

It had started with that darn chicken chase, again: it always tended to make the inmates all excited for some time, and then even more dejected than usual; and Red, who was so invested in it, more than the others.

He stuck his head inside the kitchen door. Yes, she was working and bossing her crew around, butting heads with Mendoza, but she seemed out of it.

Mh. Yes. Something had to be done.

* * *

"Hey Ma, cheer up please!" Nicky said as she approached her in the suburbs that night. "A'right, maybe you should have pulled an Achab and gone after your Moby Dick yourself, if you wanted more - tangible results, but c'mon, let it go!" she pleaded.

"Aah, my babushka, you don't understand..." Red sighed. "It was so close this time... but no, no, it doesn't matter anymore," she shook her head.

Nicky and Norma exchanged a glance. The latter produced some honey from her cupboard, and handed a spoonful to Red.

"Thank you my dear," she said, accepting it. "I just don't know what we will do for Thursday."

* * *

**There was an abandoned bottle in the laundry yesterday, and it was half full, and turns out it was bleach! Man that made my day. Thank you Jesus.** \- Angie Rice

* * *

_Saturday. Five days to Thanksgiving_

They were taking stock of the provisions.

"We're fine with the sides," Gloria said briskly. "I got an idea for a first course too, with the corn you stashed in that back freezer." She looked at Red pointedly. "It's still there, right?"

"Yes, yes, of course. We put it aside especially for this season," she confirmed.

"OK. Do you know how much there is?"

"Mh, I'm not sure, was it..." she thought about it. No, she was still too distracted by their sad Thanksgiving prospects to concentrate on corn. "I'll go have a look," she said.

"Red, I could..." Gina started to offer, but Norma touched her arm and stopped her. No, Red needed a moment alone.

The Latinas went on with their morning preparations, refraining from commenting for once. Some of them were also disappointed at the lack of chicken meat, be it drug-stuffed or not, plus they had no desire to incur the wrath of Red.

The Russian matriarch switched on the light in the pantry and sighed. She still wasn't over the frustration.

She walked towards the large freezer, gripped the handle, and pulled it.

And then... something incredible occurred.

There, inside old faithful Betty, where only some noble but still not overly exciting corn from their green garden had been stored... there lay several fresh, plump, beautiful country chickens.

A gasp of joy escaped from her lips.

From the hallway, Mr Healey was peering inside the cafeteria and kitchen. Finally he heard heavy rushed footsteps and a loud strongly accented voice: "Girls! Norma, Gina, Gloria... It's a miracle!"

He smiled satisfied, and went back to his office.

* * *

**Last night**** I found some apricot facial scrub on my bunk, not commissary ****but a good one****. It was very thoughtful of someone, so, yeah... thanks.** \- Marisol "Flaca" Gonzales

**That ****sounds**** like a ****cool **_**someone**_**. Mh. ****OK, I got it. ****The other day we made pizza, and I was already thankful for that. But then t****he following morning there were some leftovers hidden in a box in the kitchen just for me, with my name on it.**** It was my favorite even.** \- Maritza Ramos

* * *

_Four days to Thanksgiving_

Piper Chapman was a convinced Democrat. That is, she would never vote Republican, supported every minority group cause, tried to eat local and organic, and was very good at making people think they were playing an active and equally significant role in decision-making processes when, really, it was her who was the master (mistress?) puppeteer.

On this basis 'Big House Bugle' continued sailing smoothly, with minimal and inconsequential drama between the assistant editors and mostly condescending amusement or indifference from C.O.s and administration.

The latest issue would feature their usual columns, beauty tips from Lorna, insightful (after some tiny censorship) advice from Flaca, Daya's cartoons, Wanda Bell's profile and interview in "Guards, They're People Too!", and a special Thanksgiving pièce.

Which was precisely what had got her to walk through the hallways, dorms and common rooms with her writing pad in hand these days - to gather inspirational quotes from her fellow inmates.

Berdie Rogers had liked the idea so much that she had offered to take it up a notch and, with Warden - pardon, Director of Human Activities - Caputo's approval, they had got to it.

The others had to be involved of course, each with her own skill set: Morello had focused on makeup and hair, with a little external help from Sophia, Daya had painted a backdrop and Flaca had agreed not to interfere with Lorna's work, as long as she could have a say on framing and angles, for which she brought along her friend Maritza as a special consultant.

Everyone looked happy enough.

Alex certainly was, seeing her girlfriend busy with these harmless preps; if she was doing this then she wouldn't have time to get tangled in more serious and potentially dangerous affairs, something that Piper seemed to have a real knack and possibly secret passion for.

"Did you know that Harry Truman tried to promote 'Poultryless Thursdays' in 1947 as part of a voluntary rationing campaign, thus discouraging the consumption of turkey and eggs? But the National Poultry and Egg Board lobbied the President, so in the end turkey was reinstated. Eggs remained off limits though, which resulted in no pumpkin pie at the White House that year," Piper explained.

"Wow. Riveting," Alex smiled patiently at her girlfriend.

"Well it was actually a good idea you know," Lorna piped up. They were having breakfast together in the cafeteria, and talking about the upcoming festivity. "I was just telling Red, it doesn't matter if we have chicken instead of turkey, maybe it's even better. I don't trust meat coming from that far away, and who knows what hygiene standards they have in those Muslim countries. That's why we had lasagna at home for Thanksgiving."

"Oh, wow wow wow. You know turkey is as American as they come, right?" Nicky interrupted.

"Really?" Lorna shook her index in her face. "Then why does it have the country's name, mh?"

"Actually, that was a case of inaccurate naming from the first Europeans who came -" Piper started her lesson.

"Inmates! Move along, five minutes to the end of your breakfast hour," a loud announcement from O'Neill stopped them.

"Sorry babe, you'll have to crush Lorna's beliefs another time," Alex said squeezing her shoulder, and started standing up with her tray.

* * *

"Maybe it was fate. You know your name, Galina, means 'chicken' in Spanish?" Blanca asked.

"Ooh really," Red replied drily. "I'm new here, I might have heard this maybe just one or two... hundred times in the last decades."

Blanca's unibrow turned back to her chopping board. "Mh. Right."

"My name actually derives from Ancient Greek mythology, and is related to serenity," the Russian woman instructed loftily.

"Oh?" Gloria's eyebrows lifted in a comic way.

"Tranquility. Calmness," Red explained.

"Yeah, thank you for the synonyms. What were your parents thinking back then, I'd like to know," Gloria went on.

"I'll let you know that I am an extremely calm person."

Her colleague cackled. "Sure Red, as you say," she shook her head. "Calma como los agentes KGB antes de despedazarte y hacerte desaparecer para siempre," she whispered. She didn't know the particulars but had heard of the other woman's Mafia connections, and could just picture her coldly cutting someone to pieces and making them disappear forever.

"What was that?" Red asked suspicious.

"Nothing, nothing..." Gloria looked down at her own slop-stained apron. "Just that my parents had a great sense of humor too. I sure ended up gloriously in here."

Red stopped and stared at her. "You sure did. You are a queen in here," she said. "Remember the poet, Milton: _Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven_."

* * *

_Wednesday_

The preparations were in full swing now.

The menu had been discussed and perfected _ad nauseam_, taking into account the ingredients and equipment available, diversity as to appease everyone's tastes, and first and foremost the bosses' desires, to avoid World War Three from breaking out in the kitchen. Everyone of the staff had been given a role and knew exactly what they were expected to do, now and on the following day.

Some food had been donated, whereas with some recipes they would have to be creative.

Red and Gloria were like two captains, working well in tune around each other now that the decisive time was getting near, and ordering their soldiers around to exact the best from them.

Red went first.

"Ladies, this is a crucial moment. Do not underestimate the importance of strategy and preparations. Today we can still evaluate and reason, correct our mistakes. Tomorrow there won't be time to think, just to act. What we do tomorrow is decided today. We have the power to give all these women in here a memorable evening to live and remember for long. Make them happy, and make us proud."

Everyone was looking at her. Her co-captain, too. Red stared back at her expectantly.

"Yeah, exactly," Gloria picked up with conviction. "So chicas, move your asses and don't fuck up!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**So tell me Amanda, what are you thankful for this fiine year?** \- Poussey Washington as Mackenzie

**Well Mackenzie, I don't know if you've heard, but there's rumors of a fiine Southern feast we are going to have tomorrow in this most exclusive venue.** \- Tasha "Taystee" Jefferson as Amanda

**Really Amanda? Don't tell me we are going to have us some baked macaroni and cheese?** \- Washington

**But of course Mackenzie! And don't forget the other staples of our cuisine, our collard greens and chitterlings! **\- Jefferson

**That's wonderful Amanda! Now I sure hope we'll be able to try some sweet potato pie for dessert. **\- Washington

**Without a doubt! If only they could be up to our taste buds standards! **\- Jefferson

**I am of the mind of proposing some sweet tea to placate our thirst, my dear Amanda. **\- Washington

**An excellent idea Mackenzie. Mark my word, this is going to be the best Thanksgiving ever!** \- Jefferson

XXXXXXXXXX

_Thanksgiving_

It was a fine cold day outside, but the ladies in charge of that evening's feast scarcely had the time to notice it.

Lunch had been light, as the efforts in the kitchen were all focused on the main event.

The other inmates had had the afternoon free; some were lounging on their bunks or in one of the common rooms, and a few were busy decorating the cafeteria, lending their ears to the noises, voices and occasional shouts coming from the kitchen and trying to add the pieces and understand what the fabled menu would comprise.

"Hey, Mendoza," Red said.

"Whassup," Gloria continued to the pantry, stopping to scold Daya and yelling at Maria on her way.

"Come here."

"I don't have time Red," she answered flustered, turning to Blanca and about to rip her a new one too.

"Mendoza," the Russian woman stepped in front of her. "Do you still have those cigarettes?"

"... what... Yes, why," Gloria had to pause.

"Come with me," Red grabbed her elbow and dragged her to the office. "Take them."

"What..."

"Take them!"

Gloria scoffed, but went to the desk, felt and retrieved the packet that was taped securely underneath, and slammed it over the formica surface.

"Can I go now?!" her nostrils flared.

"You're taking a break with me," Red pocketed the cigarettes.

"_What_? You crazy woman? We got two hours and -"

"Yes. Everything is going well and we deserve five minutes out of here."

"- you don't even smoke!" Gloria protested.

"Not normally, but you're making _me_ nervous. I can't imagine how those silly girls are bearing it. So now come," Red pulled her arm again and they left the office.

"OK, okay. You bossy old lady," Gloria mumbled.

"Norma! You're in charge. And," Red turned to the first Latina she found, "you." Gloria scoffed, shook her head and went out. Alarmed, Maritza looked at Flaca, who was as astonished as her, and just shrugged.

"You know you put in charge a woman who doesn't speak, and mine... she's the one who cut her finger in the stew; and those ugly Valentine's cookies, they were hers," Gloria said as she took a drag on her cigarette.

"Mh. Well then, if she can't cook, maybe she can order people around," Red replied. "You know what they say, those who can't do..."

...

Gloria burst into laughter.

"Ay dios mío," she lifted her eyes to the light blue sky. "I needed this."

Red smirked and took the cigarette from her.

* * *

"To a turkeyless Turkey Day," Nicky toasted with her table mates.

"Now ladies, before you start," said Caputo. Everyone was gathered in the cafeteria, seated or queueing to get their food. "I want to sincerely thank all the people who have contributed to this evening. Thank you to the decorating crew," he gestured to Boo, Pennsatucky, and Suzanne – the first stood up and bowed, the second waved awkwardly, and the third looked around with wide shy eyes before blushing and hiding a toothy grin; Taystee patted her back warmly. Cheers and some applauses followed. The paper turkey chains and yellow fallic forms hanging from the ceiling and windows, oh no right, they must be cobs, evidently encountered the people's approval.

"Thank you to our prison newsletter 'Big House Bugle' committee. The last issue is going to be handed out later on this evening; also, they have prepared an additional surprise for you, and when we are all seated we are going to find out what it is."

"Hooray!" Nicky started the cheers, while Piper and Lorna nodded modestly and exchanged a satisfied glance.

"Thank you to our generous donors, who made this possible," here Sam Healey, who was watching from a corner, smiled a bit more widely. A large slice of cake was on his desk, and he would find it before going home.

"But most of all, a huge thank you to the kitchen staff. They worked relentlessly for days to design and prepare the best dinner we could have tonight. Ladies, come out and let us say thank you!" Caputo ended.

The women in the kitchen came out to join their colleagues who were serving food to bask in their minute of glory, while all their fellow inmates clapped, hollered, whistled and cheered in a variety of ways.

Red and Gloria nodded at each other. Aleida hollered back, Flaca put her arm around Maritza's shoulder, Norma smiled beatific and Gina pumped her fist in the air; Maria, Blanca and Daya smiled proudly.

The banquet was a success.

They had managed to put together a nice variety of small dishes, a little bit of everything from the resources they had at their disposal.

Gloria's Puerto Rican version of _arroz con ma__í__z_ was served first: a rich yellow rice with a tasty _sofrito _or sauté, olives, corn from their garden, bay leaves and flavors and spices – black pepper, coriander seeds and cumin gathered from the kitchen supplies or donated by the wealthiest inhabitants of Spanish Harlem.

Then the renowned котлета по-киевски, _kotleta po-kiyevski _or chicken Kiev, courtesy of Red. It was so juicy and tender because the recipe, Red had explained to the ones who were willing to listen, came from the classical cookery textbook of Pelageya Alexandrova-Ignatieva: the chicken was pounded and rolled around cold butter, then coated with eggs and bread crumbs, and baked; for the stuffing, it was minced chicken meat and butter. And NO, garlic butter and blue cheese were Western adulterations she would NEVER take part in.

"It is estimated that 46 million turkeys are killed each year for Thanksgiving alone," Brook Soso told to her Ghetto friends.

"Well then it's a good thing we're not accomplices this year, mh?" Poussey answered with a bright smile between bites.

The Scottish-Japanese girl eyed her plate, looked at her surroundings and nodded. "You know what, yes," and took a forkful of chicken.

"Mazel tov to that, sister!" Cindy exclaimed.

Red, Gloria and the others had also presented a range of side dishes: there were mashed potatoes, Brussels sprouts, green bean casserole and cornbread.

Boo took the cob Red had saved especially for her and thanked her prison mom.

"Green bean casserole," Lolly muttered when taking the plate. "_They_ make us think it's so traditional," she shook her head.

"It's symbol of capitalism," Chang intervened. "Campbell Soup Company invented to sell its cream of mushroom soup."

"Yes!" Lolly assented, eyes darting left and right. "In 195... 1955, yes."

Chang nodded solemnly.

* * *

**For ****the chance to s****pend this**** Thanksgiving here with you. ****I am proud of the work we are doing, all together; and grateful.** \- Joseph Salvatore Caputo

**I've been thinking about it... and before being here, or ****during**** the first months here, I d****on****'t know how I could have answered this question. But now, really, from the bottom of my heart, I'm thankful – ****for this life-changing experience, and for sharing my time with some surprising, unique and incredible people. Thanks for asking.** \- Piper Elizabeth Chapman

* * *

Dessert was served after a short break.

They were all allowed to stay in the cafeteria that evening, with their cards and domino, the newest prison newsletter in hand to comment upon, a couple of makeshift games like "pin the cob on the turkey" with the former ceiling decorations, which, why would one pin that on an animal, and it certainly did nothing to disprove the conspirationists and pervs who saw body parts in every innocent shape, much to Suzanne's dismay, more than Sister Ingalls'.

Small pieces of pumpkin, chocolate, and apple pies started circulating.

The kitchen crew secretly toasted to a job well done with some hooch the black girls had gently gifted them with.

And then Luscheck finally managed to make the projector work, and the fruit of Piper and the others' labour could be appreciated by everyone.

Not only had they used the quotes from inmates and guards for the newsletter, no, thanks to Caputo who had approved and Rogers who had lent her phone and supervised, they had actually filmed them.

The final cut last less than ten minutes and it was so successful that they watched it three times. People loved to see themselves and their friends on the screen (or, well, wall), and make fun of one or the other; but it was all in good sport, as the festive air and excellent dinner had made them all content and benevolent.

Litchfield was not perfect, but for many the place and its residents had become a home and a family, and for that, they were certainly thankful.

_THE END_


End file.
